The other traveler and other stories
by Oruma Yar
Summary: Plot bunnies and oneshots, including some I wrote for the TGYH challenge from DLP.  Chapter 5: Bring me that horizon.
1. The other travler

A/N-00: You've probably read TT stories with these elements before. Bittersweet victories in a dark future; desperate hero tried to go back in time, to right what once went wrong. But what happened to the past-self that was so carelessly replaced?

July 31st, 1990

"Happy birthday, Harry Potter." The boy living in the cupboard under the stairs whispered to himself.

Harry Potter suppressed a grunt as his stomach growled. He turned and tried to go back to sleep; fortunately, having done housework for fourteen hours a day meant that he was desperately tired, and after some more turning and grunting he went back to sleep again.

Harry Potter was ten years old and tired of his life. He wasn't even sure whether he had ever been loved; his parents had died when he was only a year old, and Aunt Marge and Aunt Petunia had always called them irresponsible drunks, for what else could they be, having a child at a mere twenty-one-years-old and getting killed in a car accident? Sometimes Harry wondered what power, what _curse_, enable him to get up every morning.

Harry cried himself to sleep, but made certain his sobs were quiet enough not to wake up the Dursleys.

He dreamed of darkness—for it was what he always saw, in the cupboard and in his life. He dreamed of stars—cold, distant, uncaring like the rest of the universe, present but never giving him warmth. He dreamed of parents—a beautiful mother and a handsome father, who looked just like him, skinny with glasses and dark hair and bright green eyes…

The image of his father was looking about, as if confused by the view about him.

"Dad?" Harry whispered, wondering if he was dreaming or finally lost his mind. The wraith did not notice him, however. Harry mustered up more courage.

"Who are you?"

The wraith started and turned; his hand went to his waist as if reaching for something, but paused half way through. He looked into Harry's eyes, and Harry found himself inspected by a pair of emerald eyes just like his own.

"I am you, Harry, or I will be—and I am here to help." The man swept aside the bangs on his forehead, revealing his own lightning-shaped scar.

Harry gasped.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The man gently calmed the ten-year-old, and told him of wondrous magic, of beautiful Hogwarts, of the terrible Dark Lord, and of the devastating war. He knew the story was horrifying, but the boy needed to know.

After what seemed like years (he reminded himself that they were in a dream, after all), his adult self looked Harry firmly in the eyes.

"I agree this is a lot to take in, Harry, but listen to me: this is very powerful, very dangerous magic. I will give you my memory and knowledge, to prepare you so that you can do better than I when the time comes. We cannot—we must not—let Voldemort rise again."

"How do we do that?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"By merging our souls—don't worry, you will still be the dominant mind, I will disappear into your subconscious though your personality might change slightly. Once the memory transfer is complete, I will fade away."

The boy looked at his adult counterpart with narrowed eyes, but nodded after a long pause. Both Harry Potters let out a deep (and unnecessary) breath.

"Let it begin." At once, the two turned transparent, as if they were glass versions of themselves; his future self smiled encouragingly at the younger Harry. The smile promptly froze, however.

"Oh sweet Merlin, I forgot about _him_!" He pointed at Harry's head.

"Who?"

"Voldemort! When he tried to kill us he left a piece of his soul behind…and it's still inside you! I have mine removed long since but you—"

His words were cut off as Harry felt pain like he never had before. Something inhuman shrieked—a tendril reached out from Harry's forehead and attached itself to the older wizard's scar.

"_Power…such power…want…yessssss…"_

Future-Harry was horrified as Harry screamed. Voldemort's splinter soul was trying to absorb them both! If it succeeded Voldemort would be reborn—with the body of the Boy-Who-Lived! The older Harry tried to grip the tendril and pull at it, only causing the boy to scream louder. Two souls and one soul fragment struggled to control the body of the ten-year-old. Harry was not prepared for such a battle, a battle fought with him as battlefield and prize; and he knew (somehow) that the battle could be won, but his weak self might not survive. Harry screamed again.

"_Destroy you, Dessssstroy you!"_

Harry could feel himself weakening; the fragment was drawing power from him. Future-Harry only refocused his attack on the fragment; either he had no reserve to spare on Harry, or didn't care about protecting his younger self. Neither was good news. He ignoring the boy's screams, and attacked again.

As the two-and-a-bit souls struggled, power pouring against each other, Harry suddenly caught glimpses of memories: a wand, cored with phoenix tail feather; a goodbye kiss from a bushy haired girl; a flash of sickly yellow light; warm, disarming laughter from a tall, lanky boy; pain, pain as a giant blind snake bit him on his arm; the twinkling eyes of an old man; long, red hair covered her bare back like smooth silk, a girl turned and kissed him; a horde of walking dead people, and he recognized too many of their faces; a man with a silver arm, grovelling in front of him; twin girls in his arms, so tiny, so beautiful; a giant memorial filled with names; green light, a green not unlike his own emerald eyes; red eyes from a snake like face, looking satisfied; silvery grey eyes, so beautiful, so sad, filling him with such self-loathing; pain—

Harry could only feel pain, so much pain…why did his dark thoughts _and_ his future self both hurt him like this? He wanted to run, he must escape…

With one last scream, he tore apart the connection between himself and Future-Harry—just as his adult self sent a blast at the soul fragment of Voldemort. Harry felt like he was tumbling into a dark, brilliant tunnel, as the fragment tore loose, and Future-Harry screamed, horrified at what he'd done—

And then merciful, silent darkness claimed him.

?

Harry Potter opened his eyes abruptly. He was disoriented; his head hurt. Strangely enough, though, he did not feel hungry at all. He groaned and sat up—and found himself out in the hall, the cupboard somehow having opened. Harry reached about for his glasses, and came upon a stick; he felt a strange sensation, a _rightness_, and instinctively grasped it. He found his spectacles a moment later and put them on. He blinked and looked again.

If Number Four Privet Drive was a temple then Petunia Dursley was its guardian and high priestess. She kept it immaculately clean, which meant that Harry spent hours every day cleaning every surface in the house. But this was not that house. Harry could recognize some old, broken pieces of furniture, the wall behind the dust and dirt, but this couldn't possibly be the Dursley home—

Harry found himself staring at a gaping hole. The entire south wall of the house was missing; _what is going on?_

_And why did the room look smaller, lower?_

"Freeze, Potter!"

The words sent Harry jumping in the air, and somehow the stick found its way into Harry's hand. Harry turned about, trying to find the source of the voice, and caught a glimpse of several black-cloaked men and women running at him. They looked alarmed, serious, and each had a stick in his or her hand, and each stick was pointed at him like a loaded gun.

_More dangerous than that,_ a voice said in the back of his head. He lifted his arms to show that he was unarmed.

Unfortunately, he didn't realize he was still holding his own stick.

"What's going—"

"—_Stupefy_!" One of the men panicked and shrieked. A flash of red flew from his stick and hit Harry in the chest, and he dropped into unconsciousness again.

?

Harry Potter woke up suddenly and completely, again.

"I got to stop waking up like this." He groaned.

"Yes you better, Harry." A deep, calm male voice said from his right side. Harry tried to sit up, but found that he could not move at all from the neck down.

"You're too dangerous to leave unrestrained, even without your wands." The man walked into view, a tall, black man in his twenties (Harry couldn't tell for certain). He gave Harry a reserved smile.

Well, at least I wasn't paralyzed, Harry thought. He asked, in a slightly weaker voice than he really was, "wands?"

He tried to remember…the red light from the stick…that man who knocked him out…a black-haired man knocked into a stone doorway, veils…

He shook his head. Where did that last image come from?

The tall black man frowned at him slightly. He pulled out a stick and muttered something, too low for Harry to hear. A tiny, glowing Harry Potter appeared in thin air; the man stared at it and frowned some more. He walked out of Harry's limited view. Harry heard the door open and close. He was alone.

If Harry wasn't so confused he would be worried about his situation. He was sprung from his family's ruined house by black-clad men and women, who had a strange stick-weapon that could knock him out easily. His head hurt and had no idea where on earth he was. He flexed his arm again, or tried to, but couldn't get any reaction at all; he briefly wondered whether he was simply drugged. But why? What did these people want with him?

The door opened again, interrupting his thoughts. A woman whispered, a soft, cool voice, to her companion.

"We know what he was trying to do, Dean, and we have the results. Neither of us are experts in this field, but I can make an educated guess. I think he succeeded."

Dean—the tall black man with the deep voice—responded, his calmness gone. "But nothing's changed!"

The woman—Harry struggled futilely to see her—sighed. "Give me a second." She muttered a word, and suddenly Harry couldn't hear anything. He looked about in confusion (again), and saw Dean and the woman walked into his line-of-sight. The woman had long, blond hair, a fair complexion, and wide, silvery grey eyes. Their lips were moving, but still Harry couldn't hear them. They kept looking at him, the woman with a hint of…something in her eyes. Finally they seemed to come to a decision. The woman pulled out a stick—a wand, Harry reminded himself, as he regarded it with wary eyes—and flicked it. Suddenly the sounds of the world returned to him.

"Can you hear me, Harry?" This was the second time a stranger called him by his name. Not that he minded too much, but he hated being in the dark about things.

"Yes I can, and can someone please tell me what's going on?" Given his recent ordeals, Harry's patience was a little worn out.

"Give me a moment." She gave Dean a look, who shrugged. The women waved her wand again, and suddenly Harry could feel his wiggling toes. "You can get up now, Harry."

Harry was a bit surprised, but he really had spent too much time in bed recently. He sat up, slightly disoriented…and mightily confused.

He jumped off the bed, and the sense of wrongness deepened. He looked at the two people in the room, and suddenly realized the reason.

Using the door as a reference, Harry judged Dean to be slightly above six feet tall. The woman was nearly a head shorter; which would make her at least five feet two inches. Harry, standing up, could see the top of her head as well.

Harry looked down. No; they were both on level ground.

How did he…?

"For your information, I am five-foot-three and you are five-foot-eight. I am Luna, by the way." The woman smiled, correctly reading his thought. She took his hand in hers, softly, and pulled him over to the wall. "In fact, you might want to tell me what you see here."

Harry looked up. It was a mirror. He looked into it. His reflection stared back. It looked like him—

Yet it wasn't him. It couldn't possibly be. The reflection had his shocked expression, yes, and the green eyes, and the scar, but it was the reflection of a man with prematurely greying hair and a lean but muscular body. He tore off his shirt. There were scars, so many scars everywhere.

"What's going on?" He demanded, and for the first time he realized how much deeper, coarser his voice was.

Luna sidestepped his question. "What's the date the last time you saw a calendar, or newspaper, or tele-video?"

"Television." Dean corrected automatically, his eyes boring into Harry's, as if trying to read his mind.

"I was cleaning the kitchen before I went to bed. It was the thirty-first of July, 1990." Harry told them. "I was singing 'happy birthday' to myself before the weird dream—and all these crazy stuff—happened. I just turned ten."

"Happy birthday Harry." Luna smiled despite herself, but Harry now recognized what he had noticed before: a strange sadness that shone through her silver eyes. A lump formed in his throat: why is she so sad? "It's not your tenth, however, but your twenty-ninth birthday.

"The year is 2010."

XXXX

A/N-01: This is inspired by many time travel stories, particularly Nightmares of Futures Pastby S'TarKan. I hope that story gets an update soon…

A/N-02: This is a one-shot at the moment, although I have written bits about Future-Harry's life. If I do continue the story, it will be about the temporally displaced 10-year-old-soul Harry, who now had to clean up the mess 30-year-old Harry left behind.


	2. Not Another Star Wars Reference!

Star War is good and nice but

(At the end of _Half-blood Prince_, after Dumbledore's death…)

Harry felt a rage in him like he had never felt before: he hated, _hated_, the man in front of him more than even Voldemort right now.

"_Sectumsempra!_" He roared, banishing the image of Malfoy bleeding on the washroom floor, wishing only the same for the man in front of him. Yet with amazing ease the curse was batted aside by the wizard in front of him, whose face now twisted into a mask of fury.

"You DARE use that spell against me? Do you know who I am, Potter?" Severus Snape hissed, Disarming Harry before he had another chance to curse him.

"You hated my father. You helped Voldemort killed my father, my parents!" Harry cried, and made to attack Snape with his bare hands. He was summarily blasted back to the ground by a curse. The older wizard was strangely calm, however.

"No, Potter. I AM YOUR FATHER!"

"NOOOOOO!" Harry screamed then stopped. "That's quite impossible, even if my mum and you are in the same year and all. Surely you don't imply you two were in a secret affair behind my father's back, do you?"

Snape gave him a look. "Oh, no, not at all."

"And that's also the fact that I look _exactly_ like my father. I mean, every time I got introduced to someone they would claim, oh look he looks just like James but with Lily's eyes." Harry said, getting a little more comfortable on the lawn.

"Well, you see, Harry…" Snape turned slightly pink. "James is your mother."

"NOOOOOOOOO!" Harry screamed again, far more horrified this time—although considering what Snape just said, it was understandable. He stopped after a minute or so. "That just raised more questions! You are both men! Don't give me that M-PREG tripe, that's impossible! And that's not to mention my having mum's eyes!"

"M-PREG? What have you been reading?" Snape frowned. He knew the restricted section of the Hogwarts library had some… exquisite texts but still, he should talk to Pince next term. "Well you see, James and I donated the genetic material and Lily, who was my best friend, was the surrogate mother. Somehow a bit of her genes sneaked in and you get your beautiful, beautiful green eyes."

He looked at Harry with love in his eyes.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Harry couldn't take this anymore and finally, mercifully, his brain shut down and he passed out.

Another take of the scene above

(Same beginning until Harry was Disarmed)

"No, Potter. I AM YOUR FATHER!"

"NOOOOOO!" Harry screamed then frowned. "Oh come _on_, I mean, what's with all this _Star Wars_ reference? It is a great movie trilogy and all, but why is everyone always making references to it?"

He gave Snape a look. "And the fact that a Death Eater like you watched Star Wars? That boggles the mind."

"Everybody needs a hobby during his down time." Snape shrugged. "And it's fun. That's why a cliché is developed."

(Fast forward to the end of _Deathly Hallows_, when Voldemort faced off with Harry inside Hogwarts for the last time)

"Any last words, Riddle?" Harry asked his nemesis.

"Yes, Potter. I AM YOUR FATHER!"

"NOOOOOO!" Harry screamed. "For the last time, this is not funny! I am sick and tired of all these references with _Star Wars_! You are a Muggle-hating Dark Lord, for Merlin's sake!"

"It's a good movie!" Voldemort said defensively. He had the decency to look ashamed. "And besides, I need some down time too. And Vader is a fellow Dark Lord. I will build my own Death Star when I finish you!"

Harry could feel a headache coming on, a headache that exceeded the worst Voldemort ever inflicted on him. _Combined_. "I'm starting to wish you did kill me along with my parents."

"I'm trying! You're extremely hard to kill, you know!" Voldemort roared. "Do you want to know one other thing, Potter? One of the reasons I hate you so much is that I never got to watch _Return of the Jedi_ until a decade after it was released! You have no idea how much pain it inflicted on me during my exile in Albania!"

"Oh this is it." Harry had had enough. It was time for the final showdown. "_Expelliarmus_!"

(Fast forward to…oh, ten years later)

"Neville! What are you doing here? Luna will be delighted to see you!"

"I wish it is a social call, Harry, but it isn't." Neville Longbottom's expression was solemn, and Harry nodded. They had become fast friends after the downfall of Voldemort, even if both had unexpected twists and turns in their lives: Neville had joined the Auror Corps after the war and was now a very successful Dark-Wizard-Catcher, while Harry married Luna Lovegood, taking up residence in Hogsmeade while his wife taught Ancient Runes at Hogwarts. Though they respected his decision, Ron and Hermione had not understood Harry's choices like Neville did; they couldn't comprehend why he would apprentice himself to Florean Fortescue and open an ice-cream parlour of his own in Hogsmeade—the fact that Harry was extremely successful in his career was another matter entirely).

Neville sometimes wondered about his own life choices. He might not have lost Hannah if he hadn't—but that's too late now. He focused on the task at hand.

"We have found something in an old hideout of Voldemort's. Apparently we were wrong; that damned snake I killed wasn't a Horcrux."

Harry paled. "You found…another Horcrux?" He said in a small voice. Neville nodded.

"I am here to ask Minerva for the Sword of Gryffindor. It has been imbued with the essence of a basilisk and will be used to destroy the Horcrux. According to our experts in the Department of Mysteries, by destroying this last soul anchor Voldemort's spirit will dissipate into non-being."

Harry gave it some thought. A very scary grin appeared on his face, so suddenly and so scary that Neville was thoroughly unnerved.

"Actually, I have an idea…"

(A few weeks later)

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!|

"Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master!"

"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!"|

It hadn't been easy, but Augustus Rookwood was more than willing to help them with the ritual and donated a pound of his flesh. He was puzzled why Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom approached him, however. They were the downfall of his Lord!

And now…Lord Voldemort had risen again.

"Potter? Longbottom? He was as confused as Rookwood was. After all, he had spent another ten years as a spectre and summoned to Britain through an extremely painful (despite his incorporeal form) ritual. He was at once happy with his rebirth and _pissed_ with what he went through again. "You have resurrected me? Have you decided to join me at long last?"

"Actually, no." Harry Potter said, stepping forward from the shadows. "Do it now, Neville!"

The Auror stepped forward as well, and pulling out the Sword of Gryffindor he slice a VHS tape cleanly into two. It emitted a strange scream and a dark mist dissipated from it soon after.

"My last Horcrux!" Voldemort was horrified. His last tether to the mortal realm had been destroyed; he was now prey to ever- approaching Death once more.

Potter shook his head. "I should've known better. I mean, of course you'd turn a Star Wars tape into a Horcrux. Will people become possessed after they watch the movie, or something?"

Voldemort glared at him, but he had no wand, and thus no way to fight two fully-trained wizards. And besides, it's destroyed now. "That's the general idea."

"Well it wouldn't work nowadays; Muggles develop this thing called VCD…or DVD? Player a few years back. VHS tapes are a thing of the past." Potter said.

Voldemort shook his head sadly. "Star Wars is a classic."

Potter grinned. "It still is. I have the complete collection at home, and I rigged a DVD player and TV to work with magic."

Voldemort looked like he just found the Holy Grail. He was drooling, in fact. But he also knew it's too good to be true.

"What do you want, Potter?"

"Just a little payback." Potter grinned again, and this time Voldemort could see the ferocity behind that grin, and how nervous Longbottom looked beside The-Man-Who-Lived. "You see, a couple years after I defeated you something called _The Phantom Menace_ was released…"

(Half a day later)

"DAMN YOU GEORGE LUCAS!" A now-mortal ex-Dark Lord screamed. He would have bloody vengeance on the thrice-damned Muggle!


	3. When AK's collide

"_The Killing Curse… not nice. Not pleasant. And there's no counter-curse. There's no blocking it." _

–_Barty Crouch Jr. (As Alastor Moody)_

The powerful Blasting Curse sent Potter flying until he impacted with a headstone. He would have screamed in agony if he didn't have the breath knocked out of him. A high, cold voice laughed not twenty feet away.

"I expected you to put up more of a fight, Potter. You are supposed to be Dumbledore's favourite, are you not?" Lord Voldemort said, his mouth twisting into a cruel, cold sneer. "If you are, then all I say is… how disappointing."

The Dark Lord turned to his Death Eaters. "There are some among you that even now thinks that this boy, that Dumbledore's chosen, could possibly be my equal or perhaps my superior. I shall leave no doubt in your mind how mistaken that belief is. I have allowed him to fight. I have even allowed him flight. And he is still defeated. And now he will die.

"Any last words, Potter?" He said, his red eyes looking down at his so-called nemesis. "No? Very well. _Avada Kedavra_!"

The lethal green flash, the 'Death-light' as some called it, sped toward the boy—

—And Harry Potter lifted his wand.

A huge, green-lit explosion nearly knocked the unsuspecting Death Eaters off their feet. Voldemort looked bewildered behind the hastily conjured shield that protected him from the shockwave.

The Killing Curse was said to be unblockable, unstoppable. It wasn't. Voldemort and his closest lieutenants learned through repeated usage that it could be blocked by a physical barrier, such as Summoned or Conjured objects. But Voldemort could see clearly that Harry Potter conjured nothing, summoned nothing, into the curse's flight path. The boy had somehow managed the impossible, and blocked the deadly green jet of light with a spell.

The Death Eaters, stunned, could only watch as Harry Potter slowly climbed to his feet. His emerald eyes, previously obscured by his hair, were now clearly visible behind his glasses. They shone an unnaturally cold green, so much like the Killing Curse itself.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Voldemort snarled again.

All eyes followed the trajectory of the second curse as it flew toward its target, and Harry Potter jabbed his wand forward again. A spell raced from the boy's wand and collided with the most lethal curse in existence in midair. A second explosion, a second burst of green sparks, and when the smoke cleared and the dust settled the boy remained standing. A second miracle. There was no denying it now: the boy had done it. He had conquered the Killing Curse.

They all had the same question on their minds.

How?

Harry Potter took one step forward, and instinctively, involuntarily, Voldemort took a step back. And in that one instant, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord knew that he had lost—this engagement, and perhaps everything he ever had. For in that one tiny step, the man who had gone further than any other in his quest for power and immortality, Tom Marvolo Riddle who had removed his humanity and became Lord Voldemort—had shown fear, and weakness, and worst of all he had done it in front of his followers. There was no turning back; even if he killed Potter in the next second the damage was already done, the seed of doubt sowed.

"You have taken too much, far too much, from me and mine." Voldemort blinked at the boy's whisper. "You will die. _Now_."

There could be only one answer to that, Voldemort thought. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

A Killing Curse erupted from Voldemort's wand for the third time tonight. Potter's response gave the Dark Lord hope, for the boy dodged this time; whatever he did before must have strained him magically. Potter retaliated with a Fire Whip, but it missed his opponent by a wide margin, so wide that Voldemort didn't even bother to dodge—until he realized that he wasn't Potter's target at all. Three horrifying screams among his Death Eaters told him that Potter had claimed his first victims with the unexpected attack.

"How dare you!" Rage filled Voldemort's voice. He was not at all bothered by the loss of three of his servants; what angered him was that Potter had the gall to dismiss him in the face of his assault. Another round of Killing Curses was sent flying, another series of emerald explosion, but this time, at this range, Voldemort was finally able to discover just what spell Harry Potter used to thwart the most lethal curse in the world.

Of course. _Of course._

It should have been obvious, Voldemort thought as a jet of light emerged from the boy's wand and leaped toward the momentarily dazed Dark Lord. He was too slow to cast the counter, even if he knew the secret now. Harry Potter's curse slammed into the Dark Lord, tearing the life and soul from his body once more. In the last moments of his life, _this _life, green light filled his eyes.

After all, the Killing Curse could not be blocked by any _other_ spell.

A/N: An idea that started with "What happens when two AK's hit each other".


	4. Merciless

A/N: This is written for the "Thank god you're here" writing challenge on DLP. In one hour and between 500 and 750 words one has to write a story with one of the below prompts:

-"One of them is going to die. Acknowledge that. _Believe _in it. One of them will die. Accept it. Then make your choice."

-"Remember the good old days, Harry? When there were good guys, and bad guys, and we knew who was who?"

-"It's nothing personal, Ron. OK, that's a lie, it's entirely personal…"

…so naturally, I wrote a story with all three prompts.

[Merciless]

"Please… have mercy…"

Draco Malfoy's pleas fell on deaf ears. In fact, it seemed to amuse him even more; green eyes colder than ice shone with dark malice. Drawing out his wand the man on the throne drawled.

"I've changed my mind, Draco. For your insolence, I will kill one of parents tonight. Now who should that be?"

Draco darted his eyes to the bloodied and tortured forms of his parents, then yelped as the green-eyed man lifted their bodies and suspended them in mid-air with silent _Levicorpus_ spells.

"Choose." He whispered. Draco whimpered. "One of them is going to die. Acknowledge that. _Believe _in it. One of them will die. Accept it. Then make your choice."

"No… please…" Draco was sobbing openly now. "You're supposed to be the good guys, Potter! You can't do this?"

Narcissa screamed as her left forearm dropped to the ground, courtesy of a swift Cutter Curse from Harry Potter. Standing at the side of his throne, Ron Weasley followed up the curse with a Flaming Sword Curse, cutting off another inch below the elbow but cauterizing the wound at the same time. Harry's eyes flashed in his friend's direction for a second, but returned his attention to the sobbing young man in front of him.

"You're the bad guys, Malfoy. Surely you can take a little mindless violence and make tough choices?" Harry said, twirling his wand almost casually. "Give me what I want, and I'll let you and mummy—or daddy—go."

"The Dark Lord will hunt us down and kill us if I do that!"

"Let me put it in perspective for you." Harry smiled coldly. "He hasn't gotten to you yet. We have. And we will kill you if you don't cooperate with us."

"Unless you want to start choosing which of your parents' limbs to save?" He aimed his wand at Lucius' chest. "I don't know, Ron. Do you think a Heart-Exploding Curse can actually work on dear Lucius here?" He scratched his chin absently. "Wait. Maybe I should disarm him permanently. Get it? Disarm?"

"No! Wait! I'll tell you everything!" The Malfoy screamed.

Harry smirked. "Of course you will."

HPHPHPHPHP

Ron looked down at the mess with an undisguised look of disgust on his face. Malfoy had spilled his guts, both figuratively and literally thank to Harry's Entrail-expelling Curse. The canines that used to be his parents were feasting upon the remains. Ron knew that Harry would wait till the dogs have their fill before undoing the transfiguration; he could imagine their screams when they realized they had cannibalized their own son while—

"Something wrong, Ron?" Harry asked in a concerned voice.

"I'm fine, mate." The redhead said. "Actually, no, I'm not. I'm just sick and tired of it all. Sometimes I wonder if we have become as bad as the Death Eaters.

"Remember the good old days, Harry? When there were good guys, and bad guys, and we knew who was who?

"What ever happened to us?"

Harry sighed heavily; avoiding his last surviving friend's inquiring eyes by turning to watch the dogs. A flick of his wand and the Malfoy-turned-canines began going into heat.

"This fucking war happened. Death and destruction happened." He said at last. "Every day wizards and muggles alike are killed. Every day the Wizarding World struggles for its freedom. We must not waver, old friend. We must win because we cannot lose. Everything depends on us."

Ron shut his eyes for a moment. "I understand."

"I'm glad." Harry said, and suddenly Ron found himself Petrified and on the ground. He looked up to see Harry pointing his want at the Malfoys again.

_Harry? _Ron's eyes flickered at his friend, unable to believe what had just happened.

"It's nothing personal, Ron. OK, that's a lie, it's entirely personal…" Harry said calmly while the frozen Ron began to panic. He had heard Harry spoken like this before. It was always followed by some unspeakable horror. "Like I said, we must not waver.

"But you did."

Ron's eyes widened as the canine-Malfoys turned in his direction and growled. Harry had settled back into his throne-like seat, and Ron stared disbelievingly at his friend.

"I cannot allow that. For what's worth, I'm sorry."

_Is he going to watch while dogs tear his best friend to pieces?_

"Goodbye, Ron. You have been a good friend for a long time."

Ron finished his one last thought as the dogs sank their teeth and claws into his throat.

_He is. _


	5. Bring me that horizon

A/N-0: This is written for the "TGYH" challenge on DLP. The prompt is "Fuck it, challenge me" for about 1000 words (this is about 1,500).

**Bring me that horizon**

Open the door. Close the door. The room is shrouded in near-complete darkness. I throw my cloak onto the couch. One step forward. Second step. Fifth. Tenth. I have walked across the room without running into or stepping on anything. I have now reached the icebox. I open it and grab one of the bottles. Judging by the soft hiss it is wizard-made beer, the weak stuff, probably the pack Al left behind last month. Oh well. I down half its content in one gulp. I was right. I grab another bottle, by the feel of it scotch, and slam the icebox shut. Note to self: introduce Al to _real _beer befitting a _real_ man.

I transverse the room, again without stepping on anything, and settle down in the couch. I let out a held breath instead of sighing. In the years since I bought the place it has never been this quiet. First came Luna Lovegood and her father, who lost their house and—well—everything during the war. Then Ron and Neville, while the three of us attended Auror Academy. Andy Tonks and little Teddy were, of course, frequent visitors. Neville moved back home when his gran's health began failing. Old Xeno moved out when the old Lovegood house was rebuilt. Luna ran off with _that fucker_ after that, but recent Hogwarts-graduate Hermione moved right in. She and Ron got their own place a year later, and in _their_ place came Gin. Two years after that, she touched her belly one night and said I'd have a new tenant soon. Three months later she became the house's mistress. The next few years saw the arrival of first Jimmy, then Al, and finally little Li-Lu. Alongside Teddy, who had become a semi-permanent fixture since Andy's second marriage, the kids had the run of the place.

Then the kids began leaving for Hogwarts, and Gin was depressed as one by one our babies left the nest; Teddy first, then Jimmy, then Al, finally Li-Lu. I encouraged her to go back to her job with the _Prophet_ but it didn't work. Then I decided, what the hell, I've done my share with protecting the world. I resigned at the ripe old age of fifty and we began travelling the world. I wanted to try for another kid but Gin put the foot down on that, though I did try. Hard. _Several time a night._

Good times.

I finish the beer and take a swig of the scotch. Oh yes. That's the stuff.

Gin used to say I made a bad example for the kids for drinking so much while I, in turn, laughed it off. Honestly? I never drank more than two bottles a week. And no, those weren't charmed, self-filling bottles. Frankly, my coworkers (and later, subordinates) were amazed. They didn't know how I stayed sane with all the shit we dealt with, day-in and day-out.

A beautiful wife, four great kids, and lots of sex, I said.

No one believed me.

Oh well.

Maybe I should go talk to Hugo. Maybe not a frontline Auror again, but I can work in the office. Or I can be a consultant. Or an instructor at the Academy. Something to help pass the time.

I never realized just how long each day really is. Twenty four hours. Fourteen hundred and forty minutes. Eighty-six thousand, four hundred and forty seconds.

I miss the kids livening up the place. Above all, I miss Gin. Even her incessant nagging.

The doorbell rings. I don't want to answer it. The bell rings again. I keep quiet, hoping that whoever it is will get the clue and go. Rings again. I begin to wonder who would come to a dark and seemingly empty house in the dead of the night.

The bell finally stops ringing. The my ears start ringing as the door gets blown off its hinges.

"What the flying _fuck_?" In one fluid moment I have climbed to my feet, dropped the bottle and drawn my wand. Old instincts never die. "Who—?"

The dust cleared. Light from a lit wand reveals a tall, nearly bald man at the entrance. "Harry." Neville says, his eyes sharp as ever despite being the same age as I am. "Why didn't you answer the damn door? I thought you had an accident or something!"

I flick my wand to turn on the lighting charms in the room. My eyes sweep the room to assess the damage. "I was hoping you'll just go away, not destroy my front door."

He rolls his eyes. With a flick of his wand the front door begins fixing itself."I was going to, but I did a Human-revealing Charm. I know you're inside but you didn't answer; what conclusion do you think I'd have drawn?" He huffed.

I stifle a sigh. Neville means well. "Alright."

"Alright isn't enough." He retorts. His expression softened. "Gin wouldn't want to see you like this."

I run a hand through my hair.

"You still have Hannah and the girls, you don't understand. And I pray you never have to." I tell him. I don't begrudge them, I really don't; I knew that the kids would one day leave home and crave their own niche in the world. I knew that they have their own lives to live. And I knew that Gin never truly recovered from her stroke in '46, that she would very likely go before I do. I accepted that, and have made peace with it. It's just that…

"I miss them. I miss her, Neville. But more importantly, I'm bored near _fuck_ to tears." I tell him. "Peace and quiet is great only if you have someone to share it with; I don't. Not anymore."

Surprisingly, his face split into a grin. "In that case, I have some good news."

I blink at him, and only then does my second visitor reveal herself.

"Luna!" I cry, genuinely happy to see her. I pull her into an embrace. "My goodness!"

The years have been kind to her. Blond hair has long since been replaced by white, of course, but her face is barely touched by the passage of time; she looks just like the girl I met on the Hogwarts Express nearly seventy years ago.

"It's good to see you too." She smiles, her silvery-grey eyes bright as ever. Her humour diminishes slightly as she says, "I'm sorry about Ginny. I came as soon as I heard."

"Thank you." I say sincerely. I know that even with the use of magic it's a month-long trip from Mars back to Earth. I force myself to smile. "But where are my manners? Come on in, both of you."

Luna kicks shut the newly-repaired door and kicks off her shoes, just as she used to do when she was living here. I can't help but laugh. Neville smirks and takes over my duty by pouring refreshments for the three of us.

"So how are things in the Colonies?" I ask. It was quite the rage two years back; the muggles bit off more than they could chew when they opened those tombs on Mars, and it was only with the aid of the Wizarding World that they defeated the reanimated White Martians. Magical peoples were sought after since then, and many witches and wizards found new opportunities off-planet.

"I just resigned, actually." Luna says. I raise an eyebrow at her. As one of the senior magical naturalist in the world, she was among the first people recruited for the off-planet missions, and as far as I knew she loved the job. She explains before I ask, however. "I've signed on for the new Expedition to Europa. And that's why I'm here."

"Oh?"

She gestures at the room. "I felt the same way after Rolf, you know. I ran off to Mars because I can't stand everything reminding me of who—what—I lost. I need to go away, at least for a bit. And I think you need to do the same now."

My eyes meet hers. "I wasn't a researcher, or a scientist. I was an Auror."

Neville speaks up. "Who knows? There may be alien monsters to kill, or alien criminals to catch." He winks at Luna, who shakes her head in amusement. "I'm going, too, Harry."

"We'll make something for you, Harry, provided you are willing to come." She says. "You don't have to decide now; the Expedition doesn't leave for another month."

I look at Neville, then Luna. I recall myself with two others, my best friends then (and now still), having grand adventures in our youth.

A spark rekindles the fire in my heart. I down the last of my scotch and Vanish the bottle.

"I don't need a month." I say.

Neville grins and holds out his fist, which I bump lightly with my own. Luna gives me a tight hug.

"Fuck it, challenge me."

_Fin_

A/N-1: Title is stolen from the last line of the first Pirates of Caribbean movie. Alternate title is "Second Spring".


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